


always will

by crepeygirl



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Like (Band), Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Gen, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crepeygirl/pseuds/crepeygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan blinked one bleary eye open and stared at the red numbers blinking 2:34 at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always will

**Author's Note:**

> something i wrote for school

Ryan blinked one bleary eye open and stared at the red numbers blinking 2:34 at him. His forehead creased in a frown. Why was he awake at 2:34 am?  
  
He blinked a little more and a vague melody made its way into his consciousness, sounding strangely like his cell phone’s ringtone.  
  
He swung his arm around and promptly fell off the couch, directly onto his vibrating phone and a pair of suspicious-smelling jeans. Ryan groped underneath his stomach and flipped open the cell.  
  
“Mm, h’lo?” he rasped sleepily.  
  
“Ryan, hey.” The quiet, urgent voice of Z greeted him, sounding relieved. “I’m so glad you picked up – I, I was worried you’d – sleep through it. Again.”  
  
Ryan scratched his stomach idly. “Mm, nope. Here I am.” He lifted his head off the floor and squinted around at the dark apartment. Vague memories of a wild party were coming back to him. “Why’re you calling me at… early?”  
  
A pause. Then – “Ryan, it’s 2:40 in the afternoon.”  
  
“What? Oh.” Ryan struggled up into sitting position and eyed the white lines of powder on his table, before scooting along the ground towards his window.  
  
“Yes. Listen – Ryan?”  
  
“’m right here.” He squished the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he dragged the curtains to the side. Ouch, yeah, that’s definitely some mid-afternoon sun.  
  
“Can I come over?”  
  
“What?” Ryan grasped the phone with his left hand and swung his head around a little wildly at his surroundings. There was a nasty-looking stain on the floor and a couple of old, gross bottles perched on his table, not to mention everything smelled like rot.  
  
“Can I – Ryan? I’m coming over.”  
  
“Wh – no. No, you can’t. I’m – I’m busy.” He crawled slowly back towards the table. God, his body felt banged up all over. He took the dollar bill on the table and curled it into a cylinder with his free hand.  
  
“Ryan,” Z said, a little sharply. “You can’t keep avoiding us forever. You need help. Have you even paid the ticket you got for driving while high yet?”  
  
“What?” Ryan squinted into the air in front of him. He dropped the dollar bill and staggered to his feet, his head swimming. “What ticket?”  
  
Z sighed, tinny in his ear. “You got one last week, and I’m – I think you still have that one you got in February.”  
  
“Mm. Hang on, Z, I gotta hurl.” Ryan dropped the phone onto the couch and stumbled towards his bathroom, where his last meal made a reappearance. He coughed and spat a little into the toilet before flushing and crawling back to the couch. He picked up his phone – his hands were shaking, he noted distantly – and mumbled, “Z?”  
  
“Open your door, I’m outside.”  
  
Ryan sighed in defeat and dragged his feet to the door, struggling a little with unlocking and pushing it open. Z was standing outside, wearing a large black trench coat and a pissed-off expression.  
  
“You know,” she says, pushing her way inside the apartment. “We’re all getting really sick of this.”  
  
Ryan fell back onto the couch and groaned. “Ugh, whatever, honestly.”  
  
“It’s not whatever!” she said with sudden fury, turning on him with a pointed finger. “It’s not whatever, Ryan, you’re – you’re killing yourself, with this, this,” and she kicked violently at the table, scattering some of the powder.  
  
“Hey!” Ryan sat up indignantly, then swallowed nervously against more nausea and sank back into the cushions. “Stop that,” he said with a little less certainty.  
  
“No, no. You,” this she punctuated with a stabbed finger in his direction, “you need to stop that. We’re all so – so disappointed in you. You could’ve – done, so much with your life. You’re such a – a talented writer, Ryan. When was the last time you even wrote anything? A single lyric?”  
  
Ryan bared his teeth at her. “You shut up! Have you been talking with Dad again? Seriously, stay out of my business. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, the hypocrite.”  
  
Z continued, ignoring him. “You had that scholarship, and we were all so proud of you, you hadn’t a single mark on your criminal record – we, we thought you would go somewhere with that band of yours, or maybe even finished college and written a book, and now – now look what you’ve done to yourself!” She smacked a bottle of pills off a nightstand furiously.  
  
Ryan glared at her. “What do you care? It’s my own life I’m ruining. You know what? Why don’t – why don’t you just leave, huh? Why are you here? Did Dad send you? Are you just his puppet now?”  
  
“Shut up!” Her voice broke. “Shut up! And I’m sick of you just – pushing everyone away! I’m here because we – we’re here because we care about you. We care, Ryan. Do you remember Brendon? What did you do to him, huh?”  
  
“That’s – none of your business.” Ryan rubbed his eyes furiously on his sleeve.  
  
Z sat down at the end of the couch and placed a hand on his leg. Her voice was gentler. “He loved you. Drugs and all. And he tried so, so hard to help you, but you… you just pushed him away. Like you do with everyone.”  
  
“Stop,” Ryan whispered, sounding almost defeated.  
  
“Do you ever think about what could’ve been? If you hadn’t fallen into this – this, all of this?” She gestured around at the coke on the table, the cigarette packs on the nightstand, the pills on the floor. “You know.” She lowered her voice to a hush. “I think you really could’ve gone somewhere. Become famous, playing music with three of your best friends, doing what you loved. Can you imagine? Can you imagine that, Ryan?”  
  
Ryan lashed out violently, suddenly, kneeing Z in the side and scratching at the sofa cushions rather ineffectively. He scrambled to his feet and staggered to his room, holding his wrist to his eyes. He slammed the door behind him and fell to his knees. He’ll drown his sorrows in pills again, booze, drugs. As he always has, as he always will.


End file.
